


one tires of scented time

by skatingsplits



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: Nobody else in her social circle would have dared to do anything other than ring the doorbell, announce themselves to her maid and wait in the parlour to be seen at Marisa’s discretion. The man who had slammed the front door would never have given consideration to such niceties at the best of times but at that particular moment, Marisa counted herself lucky that he hadn’t knocked it clean off its hinges.





	one tires of scented time

**Author's Note:**

> \- title stolen from Swinburne's "Before Parting".  
\- This story comes off the back of the idea that Marisa and Asriel were in a relationship (I use that term loosely) prior to her marriage to Edward Coulter. As far as I recall, it's not explicitly non-canon but it's definitely not canon either.  
\- I also ignored what The Secret Commonwealth told us about Marisa's family so no TSC spoilers here!

The slam of the front door was forceful enough to make the mirror in front of her rattle in its frame and Marisa knew instantly who had slammed it. Nobody else in her social circle would have dared to do anything other than ring the doorbell, announce themselves to her maid and wait in the parlour to be seen at Marisa’s discretion. The majority would have probably telephoned before even thinking of coming to disturb a newly-engaged blushing bride so soon after her happy news; god forbid they should interrupt the pre-nuptial celebrations of a woman who would very shortly be married to one of the most important men in Brytain. The man who had slammed the front door would never have given consideration to such niceties at the best of times but at that particular moment, Marisa counted herself lucky that he hadn’t knocked it clean off its hinges. For a man who claimed to be so far above the idle gossip of his social circle, it certainly hadn't taken long for the news to reach his ears. But perhaps that was for the best; if he was going to make a fuss, she'd rather get it over and done with. Nevertheless, as logical as her thought process was, it didn't stop her pulse from fluttering like a hummingbird's.

  
Chittering nervously, the golden monkey hurried across the bedroom floor and jumped into Marisa’s lap where she sat at her dressing table and she fixed him with an icy glare until he fell silent. They were not, under any circumstances, going to show weakness in front of Asriel. Marisa examined herself in the looking glass, faux-calmly pinning a strand of loose hair back into place and ignoring the footsteps that she could hear thundering up the staircase. When her bedroom door swung open with its habitual creak, she didn’t immediately divert her gaze from her own reflection. Instead, she placidly reached for her powder puff, sweeping it over her cheeks and her forehead and turning her head this way and that to examine the effect before she finally allowed herself to meet the burning gaze of the man in the doorway.

  
He was staring at her with a furious intensity that made her throat tighten but Marisa would have rather died on the spot than let that show on her face. Catching herself before her chest began to heave, she exhaled as quietly as possible, fisting her hand in the monkey’s fur until her knuckles turned white. Asriel was still staring at her, not having moved a muscle since she turned to look at him; Stelmaria, at his feet, was looking much calmer but the blatant disdain in the snow leopard’s eyes set Marisa’s teeth on edge. Silence from him could say much more than angry speeches would from another man. Evidently, they were expecting her to be the first one to say something, do something. She wouldn’t have put it past Asriel to have thought she'd fling herself to her knees in front of him and weep as she begged for his forgiveness and soothed his no-doubt-battered ego. Well, if that was the case, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Marisa merely stared back at him, making a concerted effort not to let her cheeks flush under the ferocity of his gaze.

  
“Are you going to come in, or are you going to stand in the doorway until the end of time? You’re letting a draft in.” She spoke as if it was just a normal evening, indistinguishable from one of the hundreds of other times he’d made his way into her bedroom, but the gooseflesh on her bare arms had nothing to do with the open door. Asriel’s response was to take one step forward and slam the door shut behind him, once again making the whole house rattle with the force of it (not that that was a particularly difficult feat; the crampedness of this little Greenwich house was half the reason that she’d said yes to Edward). Not bothering to restrain herself this time, Marisa rolled her eyes. Was that supposed to be impressive? Surely he knew that brute strength had precious little effect on her, even with her nerves on edge. Still silent, he stomped his way over to the other side of the room and made generous use of the decanter of Tokay she’d set out a little earlier; weighing the odds, Marisa had decided that there was a good chance he'd keep their usual Wednesday evening appointment, and prepared accordingly. Obviously, she'd been right.

As Asriel poured himself (and, she noticed, not her) a drink, he reminded Marisa more of a petulant child sulking in the nursery than an esteemed academic of noble birth in his lover’s bedroom. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to placate him. If he’d decided that he was going to get angry about it, that was his prerogative. She sat there quietly, brushing her hand through the golden monkey’s fur, more out of the need for something to occupy herself than any real stirrings of affection. Eventually, thankfully, Stelmaria broke the rather deafening silence.

  
“We hear congratulations are in order,” the snow leopard said coolly, and this time Marisa did flush. She felt Stelmaria’s judgement far more keenly than Asriel’s, she always had.

  
“Thank you,” was all she said in response, and she praised the Almighty that her voice came out far more even and steady than she’d expected it to. Asriel’s laughter, on the other hand, was far from steady; it was harsh and scornful and it shot right down her spine like an anbaric current.

  
“Congratulations indeed. You must be thrilled, Marisa. Everything you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?” Asriel drained his glass, poured himself another and raised it to her in a mocking salutation that made Marisa’s grip on the monkey’s golden fur tighten fiercely. “Poor Edward. Do you think he has any idea what he’s getting himself into?”

  
“If you’re going to be childish and unpleasant, I’d like you to leave,” she said with as much detached hauteur as she could muster. “Believe me, I have better things to do this evening than sit here listening to you work yourself up into an entirely unnecessary fit.”

  
“Oh yes, of course. There’ll be flowers to arrange, a trousseau to buy, future in-laws to meet... You must be so happy.” Asriel’s sardonic tone ruffled Marisa’s composure much more than his blatant rage had. She pushed the golden monkey sharply to the floor and stood up, intending to fling the door open again and shove Asriel out of her bedroom by force if necessary but as she did so, he dropped his glass on the sideboard and caught her by the shoulders.

  
“Are you happy, Marisa?” He murmured, his eyes still unsettlingly intense, and Marisa could only stare at him, uncomprehending. He’d never asked her that before and she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he really cared about the answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the monkey tentatively reaching out to touch Stelmaria’s fur and she hated him for it.

  
“I’m very pleased,” she said coolly. “Edward is a decent man and it’s a good match.”

  
“That isn’t what I asked.” Asriel’s voice was quiet but there was a hint of his usual, ever-so-slightly cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth and fury bubbled up inside Marisa like thick, black tar. How dare he? He’d never given a damn about her feelings until he saw the chance to manipulate them, to attempt to make her feel guilty for taking advantage of the best opportunity she’d ever had. As if he could have expected her to have any compunctions about marrying Edward, as though he would have even thought twice had he been in her position. Of course, that would never have occurred to him; Asriel had never been one for deigning to consider someone else’s point of view. Marisa opened her mouth to tell him, finally and firmly, to leave but her words were lost against the sudden pressure of his lips against hers. The kiss was harsh and frantic, strong hands gripping her shoulder and sliding into her hair, instantly ruining the coiffure that had taken her half an hour to perfect. It was the sound of a hairpin falling to the floor that made Marisa pull back. For a very short moment, she merely stared at him, just long enough to register the hint of something in his countenance that she didn’t care to identify. But before Asriel could speak- or worse, pull her back to him and make her lose the resolve that she was fighting so desperately to keep a hold of- Marisa's palm made firm, hard contact with his cheek. The impact made her own hand sting but it was more than worth it for the way he hissed like a wounded animal, clutching at his face where the skin was already inflamed. For the first time since he’d entered the house, for the first time since she’d accepted Edward’s proposal, Marisa’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. It didn’t last long, however; Asriel leaned in to kiss her again, his tugging of her hair deliciously painful at her scalp, and this time Marisa had a great deal more difficulty in resisting.

  
“You’re a hypocritical bastard,” she murmured breathlessly when they broke apart, trembling fingers fumbling to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. “You don’t want to marry me but heaven forbid I should marry someone else.” Asriel made a noise that sounded like the beginning of an angry retort but Marisa’s carefully manicured nails dug sharply into his neck and shut him up. “If you were expecting me to wait here, in this horrible little house, with my skirts around my waist until you get tired of me, then I’m afraid you’re in for a very nasty shock.”

  
She moved to kiss him again, her hands sliding up to push both his shirt and jacket to the floor, but Asriel kept her at arm’s length and simply looked at her. His eyes were intense, analytical, as if he was looking for something in her face and couldn’t seem to find it. But then, he just smiled his cold, arrogant smile again.

  
“That still sounds like a better deal to me than lying on your back and staring at the ceiling while dear old Edward secures himself the next generation of chinless Coulter offspring for the rest of your life. Or do you expect him to get tired of you too?” His voice was so impossibly smug and instead of letting him tip her face up for another kiss, Marisa’s other hand slapped his other cheek, harder this time. Genuine anger flashed across Asriel’s face and it made the corners of Marisa’s mouth twitch but he almost instantly managed to temper it and gently stroked her jaw, sadistic amusement dancing in his eyes.

  
“That’s it, darling. Get all that nasty, rough energy out of your system now. It’s hardly suitable for the wife of the King’s minister, is it? We wouldn’t want everybody to know what a common little guttersnipe Edward Coulter has managed to pick up off the street.” Before she could make a suitably stinging retort, Asriel’s mouth was on hers again. Anger still burning hot inside her, Marisa nipped hard at his bottom lip and let out a noise of satisfaction when she felt the skin break beneath her teeth. Asriel's corresponding growl almost drowned her out and her breath caught in her chest as he pushed her backwards, pinning her between him and the door before she had a chance to stop him. Her view was obstructed but from the whimpering sound across the room, it seemed that her golden monkey was in rather the same position. She wondered if he was enjoying it quite as much as she was.

  
“Tell me, Marisa, how are you going to manage it?” Asriel sounded far too smug for her liking and Marisa narrowed her eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking what he meant. “I know Edward Coulter isn't the brightest bulb in the box but even he can't be completely oblivious. You're an excellent liar, darling, but spending every waking moment having to pretend that you aren't rotten to the core? Even for you, that'll be quite a feat.”

  
Logically, she knew that she should refute such an offensive assertion (no matter how true it might be), push him away and imperiously order him out. Any other course of action would be ridiculous and risky, and she knew that she shouldn't do anything to jeopardise the still-fragile foothold into the upper echelons of society that was her betrothal. But, for once in her life and for reasons she couldn't quite pin down, Marisa's strict self-control wavered. Something in his words rang too true to her, something it was very unlikely that Asriel had intended; for all intents and purposes, this was very likely the last chance that she had to simply... be. She had a lifetime ahead of her of putting on her façade every morning with her makeup- heaven forbid Edward should see her without either- of pretending to be demure and sweet and, most jarring of all, stupid. Of perpetually acting as though she was one step behind her husband when she knew she would always be ten steps ahead. It would be worth it, she was sure, but the prospect of grasping even one last moment where she didn't have to _pretend_ was too tempting for even Marisa's iron will. Try as she might with him, Asriel had always managed to see right through her. It was half the reason she'd been drawn to him in the first place. So, instead of sending him unceremoniously out the door and clinging onto sanity, Marisa sunk her nails into his scalp and pulled him closer, abandoning all pretence of rationality and losing herself in desperate, divine instinct. 

~~~~~

Barely an hour later, Marisa lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling as a large hand idly caressed her thigh. There were hairpins scattered all over the floor and one of the pearl buttons from her dress had rolled under the ottoman and was glinting in the shadow. She took a deep, steadying breath, willing herself to speak, and then another, and then another.

  
“I think you ought to go,” she said finally, not looking at him. With more dignity than Marisa thought she herself had ever possessed in her life, Stelmaria disengaged herself from the monkey's embrace at the foot of the bed and moved calmly towards the door, apparently far more ready to leave than Asriel was. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was looking at her with that alarming intensity again.

  
“Tell me that this is really what you want, and I will.” Irritation pricked at her skin and Marisa coldly and deliberately removed his hand from her leg. She had thought that he understood her, understood what it was she wanted and why she did things, better than anyone in the world. Why was he now pretending otherwise?

  
“Of course it is. I don't know what I can have done to make you believe otherwise.” Asriel’s answering laugh didn't quite manage to disguise the note of real hurt underneath the forced mirth but when he sprung up and began to dress again, his usual insouciance was firmly back in place.

  
“Oh, not a thing. How foolish of me, to think for a moment that you might be capable of experiencing something resembling human emotion.” He shook his head, fastening his shirt buttons as though they'd done him some personal affront. Marisa pulled the bedsheet around her, not letting her face flicker as he made his way over to the door. When he turned to look at her, his own expression was devoid of any emotion.

  
“You deserve each other, Marisa.” His voice was cold and dispassionate, as though he'd already washed his hands of her, and something stirred in her chest that wasn't quite the disinterested irritation of a few moments earlier. He didn't even wait for a reply, not that she'd intended to give one, before once again slamming the door behind him and thundering down the stairs.  
Marisa merely lay there for a few moments more, as silent as the grave. For a second, some strange, rarely-used instinct made her wonder if she would ever see him again but she pushed the thought down as quickly as it had sprung up. Instead of dwelling on it, she got up, ignoring the golden monkey's cries for attention, and sat back down at her dressing table. She had a late supper rendezvous planned with Edward at the Colony Club and, really, it wouldn't do to turn up with her hair in such a mess. Sliding a hairpin back into place, Marisa looked in the mirror and smiled the charming smile of a newly engaged young woman, filling over to the brim with happiness and delight. It was a perfect smile, and the only person in the world who would be able to tell that it was completely and utterly false had just stormed out into the cold London night.


End file.
